Christmas with the Duchess

by Tamara Lejeune

  They all went into the house. It was decided that Lady Michael was too exhausted to meet the ladies in the drawing room, much to Lady Susan’s disappointment, and Octavia’s relief. Emma escorted the bride to Lord Michael’s rooms, leaving her brother-in-law to see to his friend, Captain Palafox. While Lady Michael’s maid attended her mistress, Emma waited in the sitting room attached to Lord Michael’s suite. Presently, Lord Michael joined her there.

  “You led me to believe that you were anxious to show my wife every courtesy,” he began walking up and down the room.

  “What do you mean?” Emma cried, confused. “Do you not like the room? I’ve moved my brother farther down the hall to accommodate you.”

  “Room! I had hoped you would condescend to allow my nephews to meet their aunt,” he said. “Am I to understand that my wife is not good enough to be presented to the Duke of Warwick? I suppose he is out shooting birds or something. You did not think it worthwhile to interrupt his grace’s pleasures? Emma, you know such an oversight on your part—if indeed it was just an oversight—will only encourage the other ladies to behave slightingly to my wife!”

  “For heaven’s sake, Michael,” Emma said, breaking into his tirade. “Harry wasn’t there for the simple reason that Harry isn’t here! Nor is Grey. Hugh is their guardian, not I. But I am assured that they will be home by Saturday.”

  “Hugh is their guardian? What are you talking about? I am their guardian, but I—I turned the responsibility over to you, at least, while I was away.”

  “The rest of the family did not agree with your decision. I wrote to you, but—” She shrugged helplessly.

  Lord Michael was mortified. “I am sorry, Emma. I did not read your letters. I thought you were just writing to tell me that Harry had grown taller, or that Grey was still collecting bugs.”

  “Beetles,” Emma corrected him. “Not bugs; he’s very discriminating. I do not blame you, Michael. Given my history with men, your relations had little difficulty convincing the courts that I was unfit to be guardian to my own children.”

  “Hypocrites,” he said angrily. “If you are guilty, then every society woman I know is equally guilty. You’d be amazed at the number of respectable ladies who pass off their lover’s children as their husband’s.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you would be,” he agreed. “But it still shocks me.”

  Emma smiled at him. “Which is why you married a convent girl.”

  Lord Michael looked sheepish. “I suppose so.”

  He sat down with her. “But, Emma, I am not so caught up in my own affairs that my brother’s children do not concern me,” he said. “I will speak to my uncle about this at the first opportunity. The term at Harrow ended some time ago. I would like to know his excuse for keeping the Duke of Warwick away from his own home.”

  “They are no longer at Harrow,” she told him. “At present, I do not know where they are! While I was in Paris, Hugh went behind my back and took them out of school.”

  “This is monstrous. My brother thought you worthy to be their mother. He could have divorced you at any time, but he did not. That should be enough for anyone.”

  “Thank you, Michael.”

  “I will speak to my uncle,” Lord Michael promised. “I will shame him into doing what he knows to be right.”

  “Oh, let us speak of something else,” Emma said impatiently. “I hate all this doom and gloom. It’s Christmas. The war is over. We should be happy! Tell me about your friend, Captain Palafox. He seems…charming.”

  “I confess I hope Cousin Octavia will find him so,” Lord Michael replied sheepishly.

  Emma gave a surprised laugh. “You offer him as a consolation prize?”

  “Indeed I do,” Lord Michael admitted. “But with his full knowledge and consent, of course. Charles has a very rich, very snobby old aunt called Mrs. Allen. Mrs. Allen is ready to make her fortune over to him on the condition that he makes a suitable match. I should think marrying into the Duke of Warwick’s family would qualify!”

  “Yes, indeed. But I fear Octavia will be more interested in a certain Lord Camford now that you have jilted her.”

  “I did not jilt her!” he protested. “Still, I am glad she has a suitor. A lord, no less! She will not be mourning the loss of me. I am but a younger son, after all.”

  “I feel sure she has already forgiven you,” Emma said.

  Between them, they decided that Lady Michael should rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Tea with the ladies would not be attempted. Lady Michael could meet everyone before dinner. There Lady Michael could meet her new family with every possible advantage.

  A servant came in with a jewel box, which Emma presented to Michael. “For the bride.”

  Opening the box, Lord Michael saw a magnificent set of diamonds and emeralds, a necklace, drop earrings, and two matching bracelets.

  Lord Michael protested that she was too generous.

  “Don’t you recognize them?” said Emma. “They were your mother’s. Warwick gave them to me years ago, but they are not entailed upon the estate. We had no daughter; they really should go to your wife, don’t you think? I never wear emeralds myself, so don’t you dare accuse me of generosity.”

  Brushing aside his thanks, she left him.

  The news that Lord Michael had returned to Warwick with a Portuguese bride made its way across the duke’s fields to the gentlemen, who were industriously bagging pheasant half a mile away. Lord Hugh’s face turned brick red with anger. He immediately broke down his gun and made for the house, threatening to sue his brother’s son for breach of promise.

  “It is very sad for Cousin Octavia,” Nicholas remarked to Monty. “I understand they had been engaged for a very long time.”

  “It is always sad when a man marries,” Monty replied. “Don’t you think?”

  “No,” said Nicholas. “I hope to be married very soon.”

  “Well, it’s your funeral,” Monty replied.

  The gentlemen resumed shooting.

  As the day drew to a close, they walked back across the fields to the great house. Monty went his own way. Nicholas was able to find his way back to his own apartment without assistance, delayed by only a few wrong turns. The door to Westphalia stood ajar, and, as he approached it, he heard voices, a man’s and a girl’s. As he pushed the door open, he saw a young girl with bright red hair seated in the window seat. A cavalry officer easily twice her age stood over her, one booted foot on the seat. They both seemed to be discussing the view from the window.

  Nicholas was shocked.

  “Cousin Jellies!” he exclaimed in disbelief. “I mean: Julia!”

  The gentleman gave a guilty start, but Julia Fitzroy simply jumped up and ran to Nicholas, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “Cousin Nicholas! I’ve missed you so much! Did you have good hunting? I bet you’re an excellent shot!”

  “You should not be here, Cousin Julia,” he told her sternly. “Where is your governess?”

  As he held her at arm’s length, Julia tossed her head prettily, her long hair rippling down her back. “I am too old to have a governess!” she pouted. “It is insupportable!”

  “And you, sir,” said Nicholas, addressing the gentleman. “What are you doing in my room?”

  The officer had lost his guilty expression, and in its place was a look of superiority. His uniform was impeccable: a scarlet coat with black facings, edged in gold braid; white leather breeches; and tall, black top boots. He had gray eyes and a little mustache. Nicholas disliked him more and more with every passing second.

  “Your room, sir?” he smiled. “I am just arrived with Lord Michael Fitzroy. He said this was to be my room, and I believed him.”

  “I told him this was your room, Cousin Nicholas,” Julia put in. “Gentlemen, allow me to make you known to one another. Cousin Nicholas, this is Captain Palafox. Captain Palafox, this is my cousin, the Earl of Camford.”

  Captain Palafox blinked.
Then he bowed.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” he said contritely, his smile slipping. “Obviously there has been some mistake. Oh, dear, and my man’s just finished unpacking my things,” he added apologetically.

  “Surely your man noticed that my things are already in the closet!” said Nicholas.

  “No. Just a few old rags in the wardrobe.”

  “Those would be my old rags, sir,” said Nicholas.

  Palafox looked him over curiously. “I see. I suppose I could have my man pack me up again and move me, but that could take as much as an hour. Is it really worth it to your lordship? Potentially, it could make us late for tea.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “I wouldn’t bother,” he muttered. “Just—just tell me what your man did with my old rags, and I’ll be on my way.”

  Palafox was already ushering Nicholas to the door. “Thank you, my lord. I do believe he put them in the room on the other side of the stairs—the small, dark one—very cozy.”

  “Not the one on the left?” Nicholas exclaimed, a slight smile touching his lips. Inside that room, he knew, was an entrance to the secret passage that connected this part of the house to Emma’s.

  “Indeed, my lord. The very one,” Palafox assured him.

  “Come, Cousin Julia,” Nicholas said firmly, leading his fifteen-year-old cousin from the room. “You should not be here; these are bachelor’s quarters. If someone else had found you alone with that gentleman, your reputation would have been in shreds.”

  “But I was only looking for you, Cousin Nicholas,” Julia said, snuggling up against him. “I have not seen you in ages!”

  “Don’t be silly. We saw each other only yesterday,” he corrected her.

  “Not at all!” she complained. “You were not at tea. And I wore my blue muslin for you. And I am not allowed to dine in company, for I am not yet Out, so I could not see you at dinner either. I have been hoping to see you all day today. If you do not make an effort, I shall never see you at all!”

  “Yesterday I lost track of time,” he apologized. “Today I have been out in the fields with the other gentlemen.”

  “There is a conspiracy to keep us apart,” Julia whined. “Mama and Papa are being perfectly beastly about the whole thing. It’s not my fault I’m the youngest. I think a man should be allowed to choose his own wife.”

  “So do I,” he said gravely.

  “You should hear how they talk about you, Cousin Nicholas,” she went on slyly. “As if you were a head of beef! First, they wanted you to marry Augusta, when everyone knows she only cares about the four-leggeds! That was bad enough, but, now—! Oh, Cousin Nicholas! Now they expect you to marry Octavia! Just because she’s been jilted by Cousin Michael.”

  Julia barely stifled a giggle. “But you mustn’t let them force her down your throat, Cousin Nicholas,” she said earnestly. “That is what I came to tell you. Octavia is worse than Augusta ever could be. Augusta is really quite harmless. But Octavia is perfectly cold-blooded. And she is twenty-four! Positively ancient. I shall be sixteen in seven months.”

  “You should not laugh at the misfortunes of others,” he said sternly. “Your eldest sister is to be pitied. The marriage of her betrothed to another must have come as a great shock to her.”

  Julia stared at him. “Of course it is all very sad for her,” she agreed. “But wouldn’t you rather marry me?”

  “I am not going to marry any of you, Cousin Julia,” Nicholas said firmly. Glancing over the marble balustrade of the gallery, he spied a footman crossing the hall below. “You there! Miss Julia has become lost. Would you be so good as to take her back to her mama?”

  “Oh, Cousin Nicholas!” Julia howled, stamping her foot.

  Ignoring her completely, Nicholas shut himself up in his new room.

  Chapter Nine

  When Colin went down to dinner that evening, he found Lady Harriet sitting in a corner of the lounge like a neglected old ruin. “How is poor, pitiful Octavia taking the news?” he asked, slipping into a chair close to her.

  Across the room, Monty stood with a group of young officers, swapping stories. Monty was always careful never to be seen in public with Colin.

  Lady Harriet watched Colin watch Monty for a moment before answering. “You know Octavia. She wears the mask. But I’d be terrified to see what lies beneath. Being jilted is never a pleasant thing, of course, but when a woman is twenty-four—”

  “Is she as old as that?” Colin laughed. “If I were that old, I’d kill myself.”

  She glared at him. “I happen to know, sir, that you are nearly thirty.”

  “Thirty!” he squawked indignantly. “I am only twenty-nine. I meant if I were a woman, I’d kill myself, of course. Especially if I were still a spinster like the egregious Octavia.”

  “There are worse things than being a spinster, dear boy,” the sixty-year-old spinster informed him severely. “You needn’t feel sorry for Octavia. Naturally, she will claim Lord Camford as her consolation prize. The poor girl’s just been jilted, after all, and she does have seniority.”

  “She’s too old for him,” Colin protested. “I want him to marry Julia.”

  “Pshaw!” said the old lady. “She has beauty, I grant you, but Octavia has brains.”

  “Brains didn’t do you much good when you and Aunt Susan were vying for George Bellamy,” he reminded her.

  “I would choose brains over beauty any day of the week,” she said coldly.

  “Yes; but would Camford? That is the question. Shall we have a wager?”

  “I am an old lady on a fixed income,” Lady Harriet said crossly.

  “A week’s allowance then,” Colin said amiably. “I clear about seven hundred pounds. And you?”

  “Ten shillings,” said she. “You’re on, dear boy! Mind you,” she added, placing a clawlike hand on his arm, “he will not marry anyone as long as he is dangling after your sister.”

  “I’ll take care of Emma,” Colin said. “She’s half over him already. I’ll finish her off.”

  The duchess was standing in the receiving line with Lady Michael as the guests filed past into the lounge. Colin sidled up to her and whispered in her ear. “I know why a certain gentleman rejected your advances.”

  Emma half turned her head. “Why?” she asked, smiling at a young officer and his wife.

  “He has the pox.”

  Emma was so overcome by a sudden choking cough that she had to excuse herself from the line and go sit down. “You can’t just say that to a person,” she hissed, as Colin brought her a glass of cool, clear liquid. “You must prepare her first! How do you know he has the pox?”

  “Croft said it was the worst case he’d ever seen.”

  “Dear God,” Emma murmured. Seizing the glass from his hand, she drained it, exploding into another round of coughing. “What was that?” she demanded, her eyes full of tears.

  “Pure gin,” he replied.

  “I thought it was water,” she said, glaring at him.

  “Don’t get tetchy with me, baggage. It’s not my fault your latest toy has the pox. You should have expected it, really. I mean, he is a sailor. Don’t shoot the messenger,” he called after her as she pushed past him to take her place in the receiving line.

  Julia was not yet Out, of course, which gave Lady Harriet the first advantage. Octavia did not disappoint her. The moment Nicholas entered the room, she glued herself to his side, much to his dismay. He was too polite, however, to shake her off. Besides, he did feel rather sorry for her. Doubtless, she wanted someone with her when she faced Lord Michael and his beautiful bride for the first time. “This must be very unpleasant for you, Cousin Octavia,” he said civilly, offering her his arm as they stood in line.

  “I do not know which is worse,” she replied, “my Aunt Bellamy’s gloating, or everyone else’s pity. There is nothing I can do, it seems, to convince people that I was never in love with Cousin Michael.” She shrugged helplessly.

  Nicholas blinked at her in surprise.
“Oh? You were not in love with him? I am glad, for your sake. I was afraid of finding you heartbroken this evening.”

  Octavia smiled faintly. “No, indeed. Why, Lord Michael and I practically were brought up as brother and sister. He has not injured me. I am truly happy for him and his bride.”

  “That is a relief to me,” said Nicholas. “But, all the same, I think it infamous for a man to marry one lady when he is engaged to another.”

  “Oh, but Lord Michael and I were never engaged,” she assured him quickly. “That was merely a fantasy of my parents. My father may have spoken to his father on the subject, but there was never anything in writing, and there was no understanding whatsoever between Lord Michael and me. None at all,” she added, smiling. “I am completely unattached, just as I’ve always been.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Nicholas said, and he really was. “I don’t like to think a gentleman would behave so dishonorably.”

  “Why, Cousin Nicholas!” she said. “I think you believe me.”

  “Of course I believe you,” he said, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

  She smiled ruefully. “No one else does, I’m afraid. They are all certain I am nursing a broken heart, and they are all determined to pity me and console me. Except for Aunt Bellamy, of course. She seeks to rub salt into a wound that does not exist, but I will never convince her of that. Even Mama thinks I was in love with Cousin Michael. I cannot convince her otherwise.”

  “Well, I believe you,” he said warmly. “If your heart were broken, could you be standing here talking to me with such equanimity? You would be in your bedroom crying your eyes out.”

  “Exactly so! How nice it is to have someone who believes me. I fear the rest of the holiday will be a very trying time for me. I should like to be out of the house as much as possible, but I can’t think of any excuse. Can you, Cousin Nicholas?”

  The line moved up, distracting him. He could now catch glimpses of Emma standing between Lord Michael and his bride. The bride wore a blazing set of diamonds and emeralds with a gown of white satin, but Nicholas had eyes only for Emma. In her simple gown of silver-gray silk, she looked quiet and dignified. He loved her for not outshining the bride, which she could easily have done, he thought.